


Obsession

by Last_Sacrifice25



Series: Mahonefield [1]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M, PoV Alexander Mahone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 20:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12196776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Sacrifice25/pseuds/Last_Sacrifice25
Summary: Breathtaking eyes, so clear, determined and yet… even after everything they lacked the darkness he was greeted by every time he turned to see his face in a mirror.





	Obsession

Obsession. He couldn’t deny it. Not anymore. This wasn’t about the hunt, it wasn’t about the high he always felt when there were criminals to be outsmarted. It had started this way - the only way something like this could’ve started. Still, it was what he told anyone who dared to ask, who dared to question him - even though he knew better. Knew it, but didn’t want to admit it. He saw the suspicion in his colleague's eyes, saw their doubts. But they weren’t able to do what he could. They didn’t, couldn’t possibly understand what it felt like not just to understand someone’s way of thought but to be so familiar with it that it felt as if he was living in their head. Truth to be told most of the time it didn’t turn into obsession… at least not like this one had. A criminal worth of Mahone’s attention had usually killed more than just a few innocent people, they were rapists, the worst kind of human beings humanity could come up with. Oh, they were smart alright. But all of them were monsters of some kind - even if it wasn’t their fault, but he’d still be aware of the fact what they were capable of. He was still aware of what Scofield was capable of and this awareness was an bigger issue with each passing day. Chasing Scofield had been fun but still been nothing more than the job up until that day in the courthouse. He should’ve paid closer attention to the gun aimed at his face, maybe he would’ve if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew Scofield wouldn’t kill him, Burrows on the other hand probably would. It wasn’t his posture that gave him away. The gun lay steady in his hand, his breathing was even, although too fast to be relaxed, but then again… he was trying to break out his nephew, if he were perfectly calm Mahone would’ve declared him a sociopath the minute he walked out of the elevator. But it wasn’t and he hadn’t. What had betrayed Scofield were his eyes. Breathtaking eyes, so clear, determined and yet… even after everything they lacked the darkness he was greeted by every time he turned to see his face in a mirror. Everything had fallen into place back then. He’d understood Michael before, but looking straight into his eyes for the first time... it just clicked. The things Michael Scofield was capable of might be horrible but on a level of self-destruction and self-sacrifice that had nothing in common with the men he hunted. The tattoo wasn’t just a plan written in ink anymore. From that day on Mahone saw it for what it was: A love letter written on his skin. And once he’d realized this, being aware of what Michael Scofield was capable of wasn’t something that helped to stay away, to not lose himself in Michael’s thoughts, but knowledge that lured him in, that was intimidating because deep down there was envy. Envy because this convict was loyal to his family in a way Mahone never was. Envy, because Michael had managed what Alex himself had failed to do: Not only to save his family no matter what, but to remain pure and untainted of the darkness he had to use. Mahone on the other hand had fallen for that darkness the first time he had been challenged. Knowing that Michael Scofield was the better man didn’t help either.  
Now, hunting Michael Scofield was an obsession. Scratch that… Michael Scofield was the obsession, not just the tattoo, not the high of the hunt. It scared him, because now he wouldn’t be able to bring him in, no matter how close he’d get, even if he could be one step ahead and figure out the plan before it’d taken place - and he was fairly confident that by now he could.

 

Everything they had done led them here, incarcerated in hell. It was a bad joke that it wouldn’t just be him and Michael but also T-Bag and Bellick. Aside from those who were dead, Sucre and Burrows were the ones who had escaped, who were free, considering Burrows had been set up and Sucre had only robbed a store that wasn’t too bad a cut. After all Bellick had done plenty, T-Bag was out of question, he himself was a murderer and Scofield probably felt that he deserved to be here for setting free someone like T-Bag. Mahone’s eyes lay on Michael, never wavered not once since he had stepped through these doors, watching as Michael took it all in, came to understand that this place wasn’t a prison, that it was hell and nothing else.

It didn’t take long to realize that there wasn’t a legal way to get out of here. Michael seemed to figure as much, judging by the way he scanned the area, obviously looking for the loophole no one had found yet because they couldn’t see the whole picture, couldn’t connect the facts the way Michael did. Alex on the other hand wasn’t able to focus much on anything by now. His hands had started to shake not too long ago, withdrawal kicking in and hitting him hard. It was pain, too much pain to focus, too much paranoia, his thoughts too furious to keep him calm. He knew he’d need to get his act together if he didn’t want to end up dead. Yet there was just a single person in here who was able to make him focus.

He knew Michael would know that it was him who pulled him into the dark shadows, who held him captive between the wall and his body, hands at either side of Michael, bodies not touching. Mahone could still feel the heat radiating off Michael, who tried to hide his tattoo under longsleeve shirts in order not to draw too much attention to himself. It was a pity but Alex didn’t need to see the tattoo, knew the lines, every word and every number by heart, could trace it through the heavy fabric of his shirt without having to see the lines. “What do you want, Alex?” Michael’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, way to intimate even though Mahone knew he was just trying to stay off everybody’s radar, not to attract any attention. Yet, it didn’t matter why his voice was a soft whisper, the low sound just barely audible was enough to send shivers down his spine. He had to bite back all the remarks that would’ve given away too much. “I know that you don’t plan to stay and rot in here, So what do I want? I want to get out of here. You made sure I’d end up here and you are going to make sure I’ll get out again.” Mahone’s voice was just as low, just a whisper in the dark shadows that kept them hidden. The low chuckle that his words drew from Michael’s lips was enough to let Alex’s eyes wander, to trace his cheekbones, imagine how his skin would feel under his touch, until his eyes rested on his lips. And there was no way Michael hadn’t noticed. “I am sure that’s the only thing you want right now.” The words seemed to caress him, as if they were a sheet made of silk to wrap him up. His hands were shaking, urging to touch the other man, but instead he let them run down the wall, tracing the outline of Michael’s body, just inches away from the other but still not touching him. He didn’t know what he could possible hold against the assumption. Michael was right and both men knew it all too well. When his eyes met Michael’s again all he was able to see were the pathways into the depths of the other man’s soul. Every emotion he felt was greeted by a similar one in those eyes that never failed to take his breath away. He couldn’t take it anymore. Here they were, trapped and imprisoned and yet still trying to outsmart each other, to continue the hunt that had long lost it’s meaning. They should despise one another and yet neither of them seemed to mind just how close their bodies were, neither of them had any intention to get away from the other. On the contrary, with every day of the chase Alex had felt drawn to the other man and it had just gotten worse since they had been thrown in here. Now, it was impossible to keep himself at bay. Alex didn’t know how it happened but suddenly the world around him disappeared and became nothing more but Michael’s soft lips against his, a kiss fueled by anger, frustration and months worth of longing. Neither of them was gentle, they couldn’t be. Not here, not right now. They didn’t have to. Alex couldn’t help the low moan, couldn’t stop his hands when they slid underneath Michael’s shirt to examine the other man, to follow the paths that were painted on his skin with his fingers. Michael’s head fell back against the wall when their lips parted, both men trying to catch their breath. But Alex wasn’t ready to let him go just yet. His lips travelled south to kiss and lick the delicate skin, to suck and mark him as his own, place playful bites that only earned him hissing responses but no objections. And for the first time in what felt like a hundred lifetimes his hands weren’t shaking. The need for the drugs wasn’t all consuming because right now all he could think of was the man whose body trembled underneath his touch, who was able to make him forget. “You need me, Michael”. His voice was hoarse, his breath panting but Alex didn’t care and Michael’s grip around him tightened, indicating that he didn’t mind his tone at all. “You need me just as much as I need you. You’ll get us out.” It wasn’t a question. There was no other option, for neither of them. And by now they’d either escape this hell together or end up dying here. Michael’s answer wasn’t necessary, but the words were reassuring, a promise that made Alex smile against Michael’s lips.  
“I will.”


End file.
